It happened so quickly and yet it is in slow motion in my mind.  I have visions of Geo doing comprehesions and breathing and mom getting blue then  bluer.  I called Rilee (my daughter) on speaker phone and said "Grammy really needs to hear you sing her song right now."  So my 4 year old set out to please.  "A..B..C..D..E..F..G..."  My brain was thinking quickly.  I need to call mom's sister, Jacqui.  Jacqui needs to know.  "Aunt Jacqui, its Andie....they've been doing comprehsions for about 30 minutes.  You should encourage mom.  You need to say goodbye.  Give her the opportunity to go with peace.  You need to say goodbye before she is pronounced."  
"Ma'am, you need to get out of the way." (Oh, they are talking to me).  "sure, of course.  where are you taking her?"  "Banner Thunderbird."

I didn't need to rush to the hospital.  I already knew.  Mom had gone to join Dad in heaven. Rather than the hospital, I drove to the boys preschool.  I got my boys and hugged them.  I told them that "Grammy has been sick for awhile now."  We know mommy.  Grammy is with Grandpa now.  *perplexed*

I took my boys home.  My family of five that used to feel so big all of sudden felt tiny.  We held hands and said goodbye to Grammy.  We determined that she most likely would be with grandpa, eating a steak dinner with her own teeth in heaven tonight.   

"Grammy made it to the reward."  I told my kids.  She got through all the yuckiness of life on earth and she is now with God in heaven.  Anytime we want to talk to Grammy, we can just look up in the sky and ask her our question.  She is always with us now.  She knows all that we are doing.  I then was called to the hospital.

I entered the ER.  The security guard asked if he could help me.  I said "my mom coded." I couldn't even say the words.  He asked "what?"  I said again, "My mom, Judy McNabb, coded."  They decided to take me to through some doors to another hallway and another.  I don't really remember but then I saw George and said I could find my way from there.  George didn't say anything.  He just took me back.  

I entered the hospital room.  I've always been comfortable in a hospital.  ALWAYS.  Mom was a nurse.  Dad was a hospital pharmacist.  I was probably more comfortable in a hospital than actually in a lazy-boy chair. 

She was intabated.  Her right eye was still open.  Her skin was cool and starting to go rigid.  But I didn't care  I called all three kids and had them sing a song to Grammy.  They sang "This Little Light of Mine."  Then they said they loved her and I was told I couldn't film.  (I'm thinking really, HIPPA, this is an issue right now?)  I didn't want to film my mother's cold body, I wanted to film my children's goodbye.
I petted her hair.  It was soft and smooth.  I guess I had expected it to be matted and sweaty.  But it wasn't.  It wasn't oily either.  Just soft.
I petted her hair.  I kissed her forhead and closed her eye.  I was told not to touch the body.  
I walked to the end of the gurney and pulled back her sheet. I'm not a religious person.  I'm just not into the committment of every Sunday, and tithing 10%, but that isn't the important part.  The important part is that I have a relationship with Jesus Christ.  I don't care if other people see it; they don't need to- it is my relationship with my Savior.  As I pulled the sheet back I decided to wash her feet.  I used baby wipes because I didn't want to get in trouble for having some sort of seance.   (I was already told not to touch the body.)  But I washed her feet.  I told her that I forgave her for leaving me here.  And I kissed both feet. (John 13:1-17)  I told her "Mommy, I love you.  I'll see you soon and then it'll be forever."

I left the room where my mom was and went to the "consolement room."  Arrangments were to be made and people were to be notified.